


When I First Met You

by Bofur1



Series: Where Sickness Thrives... [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Balin Takes Care of Thorin, Best Friends, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Humorous Ending, Insults, Love/Hate Friendship, Mischief, Past Tension, Pillow Fights, Pre-Smaug, R&R, Sick Fic, Sick Thorin, Spoiled Thorin, Storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:10:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is sick, so Balin tucks him up in bed and tells him the story of how they became childhood friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I First Met You

“Really, Thorin, you should be resting!”

Thorin shook his head in disgust. His voice was thick due to his stuffy nose as he complained, “Balin, I don’t need you cosseting me. It’s just a cold. There’s no need to worry about sudden dea—death—” Thorin gave a convulsive shudder and Balin took a healthy step away just before he sneezed. Growling his frustration, Thorin rubbed his nose.

“Just the same, I can see that you’re miserable,” Balin insisted. “How long did you sleep last night?”

Thorin hesitated. “About five hours.” At Balin’s skeptical eyebrow, Thorin muttered, “Fine, probably more like three.”

“Exactly.” Balin motioned to Thorin’s face. “You’ve got these dark rings under your eyes, Thorin, and you’re sound like you smoked a few hours too long! It’s not healthy for you to go out.”

“But—” Thorin tried to muster an argument but instead launched into a coughing fit.

“Hm, that’s what I thought!” Balin declared. Standing on tiptoe, for his cousin was already a few heads taller than him, Balin grasped the shoulders of Thorin’s coat and began peeling it away. Thorin feebly struggled against him, but Balin simply pulled the other way and the coat came off easily.

“Balin, I have to go to this meeting,” Thorin protested weakly. “The King is expecting me—”

“The King expects you to be his heir.” Balin demanded. “If you get an infection it’ll turn into either bronchitis or pneumonia and that wouldn’t make a very happy heir, would it? I’m your advisor. If your grandfather Thrór has a problem with me advising you—doing my job—he can come in here and talk to me about it. Now put your arms up.”

Thorin sighed as he obeyed. Quick as he blinked, he found himself in his nightshirt. Balin deftly synched up the neck ties. “Fancy bows for the King’s heir.”

Thorin rolled his eyes at Balin’s dry humor. “So, what am I supposed to do?”

Balin beamed. “Nothing!”

“Nothing?” Thorin echoed incredulously.

“Aye, that’s what I said.” Grasping Thorin’s elbow, Balin guided him toward his bed. “This is your day off. Do you know what that is, Thorin?”

“I’m not a child,” Thorin grumbled.

“No, you’re not,” Balin agreed quietly, planting his hands on Thorin’s arms. He pushed the Prince prostrate as he sighed, “That’s the one thing for which you were never allowed time.”

Thorin’s illness-thickened mind was sluggish enough without Balin’s riddles. Groaning, Thorin turned onto his side and curled into a ball.

“There, see? Your bed is much more comfortable than the stiff chairs of the Council Chamber,” Balin stated.

Thorin couldn’t help but hum softly in agreement. His eyes slid upward to meet his cousin’s. “Balin...”

Balin could sense a deep question coming. “What’s on your mind, lad?”

“You and I...we’re best friends. Why?”

Blinking in confusion, Balin repeated, “Why? Well...I don’t know, lad. We’ve grown up together.”

“But I’m closer with you and Dwalin than with Óin and Glóin.” Thorin propped himself up on an elbow. “Why is that?”

Slowly Balin shrugged. “Some people are closer to each other than others, I suppose. Maybe it’s supposed to be that way.” Balin’s eyes traveled somewhere far away. “I remember when I first met you. You’d only just been born; I was about seven years old. T’wasn’t the same polite, sagely Dwarf you see now that greeted you, be sure of that, Thorin!”

“I don’t think I could ever imagine you any other way,” Thorin remarked in puzzlement.

Balin laughed and shook his head. “We’ve all had our childhoods. Anyway, your father was carrying you. I was standing with my own father, but I was too short to see when Thráin was passing. I made a fuss, so your father, kind Prince that he is, stopped and leaned down so I could see you.”

“And what did you do?” Thorin asked. A touch of color crept into Balin’s cheeks, which Thorin noticed immediately and exclaimed, “Balin, you’re blushing! What’d you do?!”

“W-Well,” Balin stammered sheepishly, “I took one look at you and told Thráin that your face looked like a rumpled cherry.”

Thorin gaped for a few moments before taking on an indignant expression. “Why would you say that?!” he demanded.

Balin threw his hands into the air. “You were only just born and the infant redness hadn’t worn off yet! You should remember I was only seven years old.”

“Harrumph. Even then you had a way with words. ‘Rumpled cherry’, indeed,” Thorin grumbled sulkily.

Balin nodded. “That’s what I thought of you at first. After my adad gave me a scold and a spank, I decided I would try to get to know you. Oh, Thorin, if only you could remember how you treated me during our younger days! Even though I was older than you, you tortured me like it was some kind of sport! I would offer to read to you or play with you and you’d throw such a tantrum! You pulled away my books and toys and pushed me around and there was nothing I could do about it. You were the Prince; if I tried to get back at you I just got another spanking.”

“What stopped me?” Thorin asked, unabashedly interested.

“Ah, now that’s where Dwalin comes in,” Balin said with a wink. “You’d heard your parents telling stories about your rumpled-cherry face ever since you learned how to walk. It’s one of those things parents fix upon, you see. So when my little brother came along, you walked right up to him and pinched his soft little nose so hard it turned red where your fingernails had stabbed his skin. You said...hm. I’d rather not think about what you said.”

Thorin gulped uneasily. “Well, what happened afterwards?”

Balin beamed happily. “My ama and adad were so insulted that they complained to your father. That was when _you_ got the spanking and I got away free! Still, I didn’t feel good about it because I thought Dwalin had gotten his feelings hurt. He was only a babe; he hadn’t understood a word you said, but I felt insulted for him. So every night I’d sneak up to the cradle and start making plans with him to get revenge on you. Soon as he grew up a bit, though, he said he was going to make you be his—and I quote—‘closest, bestest friend he ever had’.” Balin leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. “And I decided that was the best revenge I could ever have because sooner or later I would be telling this story to you on a day off from being Prince.”

Thorin sputtered. “You’ve planned this day since you were seven years old?!”

“Aye.” Balin smirked. “And seeing the look on your face is just as satisfying as I knew it would be all those years ago.”

If he’d had the strength, Thorin would have leapt out of the bed and chased Balin down every passageway of Erabor. However, he was sick and therefore satisfied himself by throwing a pillow in his cousin’s face. With a playful roar, Balin hurled the pillow back. Much to Thorin’s surprise, it exploded into a puff of feathers that tickled his face.

Balin giggled madly, and Thorin sneezed.

 

 


End file.
